


The Back of Your Mind

by sophomorestump



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Awkwardness, Break Up, College, Depression, Drugs, First Dates, First Meetings, Gay, Heartbreak, High School, Implied Sexual Content, Lies, Love, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Moving Out, Musicians, Near Death Experiences, Overdosing, POV Third Person, Paranoia, Party, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Roommates, Sad, Secrets, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trust Issues, accidental overdosing, maybe sex??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7435502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophomorestump/pseuds/sophomorestump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz tends to wreck things. Patrick Stump's biggest fear is being wrecked.</p>
<p>Brendon Urie's optimism is suspicious. To Ryan Ross, at least.</p>
<p>All four of them think they have things figured out. And all four of them perhaps couldn't know any less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so i hope i don't horribly fuck this up, and idk man i was gonna do this just peterick but ryden just wouldn't leave me alone. i ship a lot of things but those are the two i usually write for. wish me luck.

Patrick Stump; age 20.

Some had told him he was a mastermind. He hand believed it. He had believed it every time they said, "Oh, Patrick, you're a genius! You're going to go so far!" Arrogance could perhaps have been referred to as his middle name. Every pore on his body oozed confidence, determination.

Yeah, then the calendar turned 2000.

At some point in his life, that was the person he was. Bursting with lively aplomb in even the most stressful of situations. And he wanted to keep that definition of himself. As a young teenager, he was sure that he had discovered himself. That was it. He had dug through his brain, carved in stone, "Patrick M. Stumph; fantastic, talented, and maybe, just maybe a little full of himself." He hated himself for having been the stupid teenager thinking he had it all figured out.

Patrick had to realize this wasn't true with what felt like a slap in the face by a brick. Things happened. He became a new man. He was still a mystery to himself and he knew it more and more as he slowly drifted from that "permanent" summary and he felt more and more like he was sitting up in the sky desperately clinging to a robotic body that wasn't really him. It happened quicker than it felt at the time, but looking back it clearly only took a few months at the age of 16 to figure it out. Younger than most, but that could hardly be considered a good thing. It was a little beneficial, sure, he had understood the world slightly more than some of the 16-year-olds he knew and had known, but at what cost?

So by the year 2004, at the terrible age of 20, Patrick felt more lost than ever. He lived in an incredibly run down apartment, not a dorm. He had never really wanted to go to college. He thought it was a waste of time. His dreams couldn’t serve him at a place that just taught him useless, mind-numbing facts being shoved at him at light speed. He had applied, but unfortunately he had never applied himself when he was in high school. Point being, his grades sucked. No college would take him.

His family suggested community college. He scoffed.

He was a cashier. Each day the customers got more rude and the pay felt less like it was going to be able to feed him. But he was trying, and he told himself that was all he could do.

Sometimes he just sat at a place that he did not think of as being any better than himself: the entrance to a dark, trash-filled alleyway in the city. He lived in a slightly more suburban area but he didn't mind the walk, watching the trees change to busy streets and the cozy houses change to skyscrapers. Not at all did he mind, as he had no responsibility whilst walking. And besides, when he made it to his destination, he could sit by that alleyway, stare into the sky, marvel at the clouds and all the atmosphere had to offer.

To Patrick, that pointless daydreaming was a distraction from the problems pounding at his door and piling up on his stoop. That was good enough for him any day.

And that, of course, was where he was one fateful day that he had no idea would change his life. It's a cliché story to tell, but Patrick didn't think so of his own case. In all the fairy tales, the protagonist has no idea their life will be altered before the altering being comes into play, but the second it does it clicks instantly. To put it simply, that was not what happened to Patrick.

It all started with a single word: "Hey."

Patrick jumped, nearly hitting his head on the brick wall his back relaxed against. Nobody had ever acknowledged his presence as he sat on the street as he was then. It frightened him. His first thoughts ranged anywhere from being mugged to murdered and he of course didn't like any of these options. "Um. Me?"

"Yeah, you. Are you okay? Can I sit?"

Patrick was alarmed that this man was making such an advance. It probably would have seemed small to anyone else, but even just an unconscious glance in Patrick's direction would turn the gears in his mind, creaking and screaming and telling the poor boy to flee. The person Patrick was faced with looked friendly enough. He was short, but the first thing Patrick noticed after that was the boy's eyes. Deep brown, dark. They looked as though they had lost something along the way, or, well, the man they belonged to lost something. Patrick felt as though those eyes were trying to take his soul to replace the one the mystery boy didn't have. Patrick shook the thought away, reminding himself he knew nothing about the guy, as the man ran his fingers through his short hair, dyed bright red with a little too much black showing at the roots. Patrick thought again that he looked genuine, but that was immediately smothered by the knowledge that looks can be deceiving.

Patrick was worried that he had become lost in thought for too long, so before he could filter what came out of his mouth he mumbled, "Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Uh. S-Sit, I guess."

The man smiled and practically threw himself beside Patrick, causing the latter to reflexively pull his arms up. Mystery man laughed, just a little, and said, "I don't bite, dude. Promise. I hope you're not weirded out that I’m talking to you. You definitely seem it. It's just, I've never seen someone just sitting at the side of a building for no reason. Usually they're either homeless or living in the house, which is a little ironic I guess. Uh, not the point. What brings you out here?"

Patrick's saliva felt thick, practically solid and no way in hell was it getting down his throat, not in just one swallow anyway. He refused to look the man in the eyes, so instead he mentally followed the path of an ant on the sidewalk. He wished he was an ant, which sounded ridiculous but hell, what do ants have to worry about? He cursed himself for getting distracted again before finally answering, "I, um." Another heavy swallow. "I don't know. Just. Thinking I guess."

"About what?"

Patrick had to admit that the man's inquires were scaring him at least a little. He tried discreetly moving away, almost as if the conversation would automatically stop if they were just another meager inch apart. He took a deep, shaky breath, knowing that his nerves were practically showing through his pale skin. Having no way of hiding his anxiety only let in more worries but he tried his best to breathe through it and let it go. It never seemed to work but that was all he was ever told to do. "Well. Uh...not much. Life and stuff."

The boy leaned against the wall, not looking at Patrick, and muttered, "I get that." As fast as his gaze drifted away, it returned. "I do that sometimes too. What's your name?"

"Um. Patrick."

"Patrick? Nice name. I'm Pete, and because of that you should run away from me as fast as you can or I'm going to end up breaking you,” he laughed.

Patrick was taken quite far aback by this. Pete was clearly just joking around, but he was paranoid there was a serious edge somewhere in there. Was he just overreacting?

He had to admit. By that point he was a bit intrigued by Pete.

That was a totally new feeling to Patrick that made every edge of his body tingle because there were people who he had known for years who didn't even know his damn last name just because the information felt too valuable and fragile to him. And there he was quickly becoming interested in a total stranger he knew absolutely nothing about besides a first name. It was overwhelming, each of his senses telling him simultaneously to escape and to never leave.

Patrick had no idea how to respond, going into overload just from the simple conversation, the air leaving his lungs and never returning. It felt as though when he opened his mouth, sound couldn't make its way out if it tried.

Eventually, he managed to choke with a nervous laugh, “I think I’d rather stay."


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan Ross; age 17.

It was a scary time, having just graduated high school. He would be 18 by the end of the summer and that was terrifying. He was quickly beginning to discover that when you're a teenager, nobody teaches you a thing. Not one damn thing. He had no idea how to be on his own and it took all of the energy high school didn't sap from him to not think about it.

He acted as though he didn't care. Like he knew exactly what his plan was, point by point. But he had no semblance of a plan unless you could count "roll with the punches until they snap all my bones."

He held a higher opinion of himself, being out of high school. That place felt like a big room of children to him now, even though he was just in it. He was completely aware that this thought was a façade, trying to hide that he was hardly more knowledgeable than he was the first day of freshman year.

He still attended the annual end-of-school party though. It was held by some girl he didn't even know the name of to be quite honest, because it didn't matter enough to him to remember. Regardless, all he knew was that the girl was tall and thin with wavy, light brown hair curling around her shoulders, and so on with all the other details Ryan couldn't care less about. He had only been present at one of the other parties, the previous year. His best friend Spencer had some sort of connection with the girl that he claimed was "too complicated to explain." Sounded like bullshit to Ryan. He didn't mind, though.

And that was where he was. The girl had a large house that poked a vague memory in Ryan from the last time he was standing in her kitchen with a half-empty beer in his hand. That was where he tended to spend any party at all in fact, anywhere away from the dance floor and the crowds of people he had no interest in meeting. It wasn't that it made him nervous or that he was shy or even that he didn't want to be there and be social, it was just that he knew that each person he introduced himself to would never speak to him again once the thick atmosphere smelling of teenagers, drugs, and vomit cleared out.

Ryan had no time for fluff. Remember what's necessary, talk to who's necessary, do what's necessary, and forget everything else because straying from that routine is how you either get hurt or fuck up your responsibilities, he thought.

Just as Spencer began to drift to his mind, the man appeared by his side. "Dude, will you get the hell out of this damn kitchen and have some fun for once?"

"I am having fun." He took a long sip of his then-lukewarm drink to stall, hoping Spencer wasn't expecting him to say anything more, but knowing with each passing second that said hope was as good as dead. He placed the beer on the counter he was leaning against, putting his hands down on the cool marble, taking up much more space than he needed. "This is fun to me. Why the fuck should I talk to people?"

"Because that's what most people consider fun, lame ass."

"Well, I'm not most people." He quickly snatched up the can once more and finished it off, tossing it to the garbage bin across the floor but missing. He made a mental note to pick it up if he ever did decide to get out of the small room, but immediately discarded the thought, knowing that on the off chance he left, he still wouldn't be picking up his trash. He leaned against the counter once more, that time bracing himself with his elbows and not his hands.

Spencer practically snorted. "You're so pretentious." He assumed the same pose, crossing his ankles and observing a group of soon-to-be juniors doing an ungodly number of shots. "Ask yourself, Ryan, what would Jon do?"

Ryan frowned, quite frankly shocked Spencer would even bring him up. Jon was their other friend. He couldn't make it to the party, unfortunately, or many other plans, as his mental health was so far down the drain he could probably taste the salt of the ocean if he really tried. "He would probably do exactly what I'm doing, dumbass." His voice nearly cracked towards the end of his sentence, and though he was grateful it didn't, he still felt a little off-put by the mention of the poor boy. "Haven't you had enough to drink, Spencer?" He swiped the metal can from his friend's hands, ignoring the smaller boy's cries of protest, and took a sip before placing it behind him, elbow on either side to protect the drink as if it was something sacred and delicate and not just a little alcohol.

Spencer wasn't the best around drinks, or drugs for that matter; neither was Jon. That was the reason Ryan was always apprehensive to tag along to parties and such. He always said it was because he was an introverted person and needed alone time. Spencer would threaten, "C'mon. If you don't go, me and Jon will stay home. Don't you want us to have fun?" Ryan would always think something like yes, but not at that cost, but the words that came out when he opened his mouth always sounded more like an agreement to be present.

Ryan wasn't actually sure how much Spencer had had to drink by that point, but he guessed it was better safe than sorry. "Whatever," grumbled Spencer, pulling another beer from the fridge at practically lightning speed, waving it slightly just to get a rise out of Ryan. "I'm assuming that if I need you, you'll be here."

Ryan nodded wordlessly, watching as the only person in the whole house that he knew walked away into the crowds. Damn, he kind of wished he had asked Spencer to stay. It was too late. Hoping no more thoughts of his future would pop up in his head, he choked down the rest of the beer.

~~~

That was the last Ryan remembered.

He awoke on a floor he did not recognize whatsoever and instantly panicked. Slowly, he recalled why it was not the floor of his own room, at least. Then he remembered whose house he had apparently been sleeping at. He didn't know what room he was in, even after getting up and making his way back to the living room.

The house was completely trashed, and not to mention, totally empty, which Ryan found a bit unsettling. "Um," he mumbled.

The tall woman before him, the party's host, jumped as she turned but giggled when she saw who had spoken. He assumed she would have done that to any guest, as they hadn't once talked the whole year and it felt kind of odd for her to make such a gesture to a stranger, such a flirtatious laugh. Ryan let it go, as she was more than likely drunk, high, or just crazed from the party. Perhaps all three. "You're a bit late, Ross."

Then slightly embarrassed about not knowing her name, he repeated, "Um," and scanned the floor. He wondered if he had passed out, as that seemed the only plausible reason he was still there. He blinked a few times, then brought his gaze back up to the girl. "I guess...I-I'll head on out, sorry."

Shit, he thought. Spencer had given him a ride. Then Ryan could only focus on kicking Spencer's ass for leaving him behind. Regardless, he shook himself back to his senses, and whilst doing so noticed something.

There was another boy on the floor who looked about 16. He wore a purple t-shirt that was probably about a size too small, practically showing his vertebrae, and black jeans. His hair, almost as dark as his pants, stuck up in all directions. Ryan couldn't quite see his face with the awkward angle it was pressed against the floor.

A sudden pang of empathy hit him and he knew waking the boy would probably be the right thing to do. He bit his lip, considering, and figured that maybe if the kid was stuck walking too that it would be a little less frightening with him than alone. Even better, if the boy happened to have a car, he could possibly get a ride home. His house would be about a two hour walk, but Spencer's was half as far, and besides, he'd told his dad that that was where he was staying anyway. But he thought that if he got a ride he could sleep in his own bed for the little nighttime left. He squatted down on the floor, hand on the man's warm shoulder. "Hey. Hey, dude." He rocked his hand slightly into the man's skin. "You okay?"

It took a few long moments, but eventually, with extremely little warning, the boy flipped onto his back, nearly knocking Ryan straight into the nearby coffee table but he caught himself just in time. After recuperating, he looked back at the boy to see his dark eyes staring at him. "What?" Ryan questioned.

Unexpectedly, the man smiled so brightly, so wide Ryan thought his skin might tear. Bolting upright, he said, "Hi! Thanks for waking me up! I'm Brendon, who're you?"

Ryan was startled by how awake Brendon suddenly was. "Uh. I'm Ryan."

"Nice to meet you, Ryan. What time is it?"

"Time to get home. I'm not sure exactly." It had to have been close to morning if the house was empty, though it was still completely dark out. Walking was quite dangerous in the area at such an hour. "You, um. You old enough to drive?" Getting a closer look, Brendon may have been younger than Ryan originally thought.

Brendon giggled, weed and alcohol practically painting the sound. It made Ryan think that perhaps Brendon wasn't extremely jumpy, just still high and/or drunk. But he actually seemed fairly sober otherwise, so maybe he really was just boiling over with energy. Drawing Ryan from his wonder, Brendon finally spoke, "Yeah, I'm 17." There was a quite awkward pause that consisted mainly of the two blinking at each other. You would have thought they were drinking each other in, trying to take as much about the other person as possible, but that simply wasn't the case at the moment. It was just weird. "Well? I told you my age, it's your turn."

"Oh," Ryan said quietly. "Right. I'm 17 too. 18 by the end of the summer."

"Cool! I just turned 17 a few months ago.  I can drive but I don't have a car. Think I could get a ride home?"

Ryan sighed, just a tad disappointed that. "Ah, man, I wish, I don't have a car either. My ride fucking ditched me."

"Damn, that sucks. I guess we're walking then. Which way are you going?" Ryan visualized the sidewalk outside the front door and pointed in what he was nearly positive was the right direction, explaining he would be walking to a friend's house, even though it didn't really matter since his house was down the same path. "Oh, me too! I'm going down that street too, I mean. Could we walk together?" Brendon's cheeks were quickly tinting pink. "Sorry if that was a weird question. It's just dangerous to walk alone, y'know?"

"Don't apologize, I was kinda hoping you'd be walking that way. C'mon." He stood up, stretching his aching muscles, said a final goodbye the the girl who was still throwing random items into big black trash bags, and headed out the door, Brendon trailing close behind.

The early summer air was cool, a slight breeze pushing strands of Ryan's hair back, just enough wind to rid the heat. In fact, Ryan could almost call the weather chilly. Just not chilly enough to be uncomfortable on his hour walk. He figured it was selfish, but he secretly hoped that Brendon's walk was further just so he didn't have to walk by himself for any duration of the trip.

Speaking of Brendon, he was on Ryan's heels on the narrow strip of concrete, babbling the whole time. Ryan was hardly paying any attention. He wasn't capture by words so much as he was by things, at that moment. He was drawn to the stars, the moon, the glimmering remnants of puddles from the previous day's rainfall, the trees springing to life after a long, hard winter. Of course he found words just as interesting, but they had to be the right words, and he didn't hear those as often as he would like. Often he only found them in books and songs. Certainly he hadn't heard any from Brendon yet.

Soon the sidewalk widened and Brendon was walking beside him, hands jammed in his pockets and one shoe untied, though he seemed to have no interest in amending the issue. It was then that Ryan _really_ realized he wasn't paying attention because he noticed that half-zipped over Brendon's torso was a red sweatshirt, equally as bright as the purple fabric underneath it.

"Hey, Brendon?" Ryan asked about halfway to Spencer's.

"Yeah?"

Hoping to come off the least rude as possible, Ryan questioned, "Why do you talk so much?"

Brendon looked slightly hurt, but just for a split second before breaking into another smile. Ryan wondered if it was forced and if his words really did make the boy feel bad. Brendon seemed fine, though, as he explained, "I'm not really sure. I just have a lot going on in my head I guess. I think about things. Like," he bent down to pick a blade of grass from the lawn they were beside, then shoved it so close to Ryan's face it nearly took his eye out. "This! Isn't it weird how the top of this piece of grass was once the bottom?"

"I gu-"

"And!" Brendon interrupted. "Isn't it cool how many bugs this single piece of grass has probably helped?"

"Um. Well. Kind of. Yeah, I guess." Ryan was a little surprised, because that was kind of how he himself was thinking at the moment. He wasn't exactly sure how he imagined Brendon's train of thought other than something like that. He was just amazed that he was standing quietly and observing and going through the same thoughts as this excitable boy. It took nearly the rest of the walk for him to realize: Ryan looked at objects with curiosity and wonder. Brendon looked at objects with amazement and disbelief. It was just different enough to set them apart.

What he didn't get was how Brendon could just be so happy about it.

Brendon didn't seem to get upset over anything, and Ryan was internally wishing he and Brendon could switch brains or something, because he would kill to be that way, so carefree. He didn't feel like upsetting himself by teasing the thought, so instead he actually tried to focus on what Brendon was saying. Keyword being tried.

Ryan almost didn't notice when he was standing outside of Spencer's house. It was small, but in more of a cozy way than an awkward way. The outside was freshly painted baby blue, but the steps to the front door were free of any paint. Spencer had been telling him for months that they were going to paint them, but it just never got done.

"Oh," Ryan mumbled, cutting Brendon off again.

"What?"

"This is it. My friend's house, I mean."

"Oh, okay." As expected, Brendon was beaming again. "Bye, Ryan! It was nice talking to you."

"Uh, you too." As Brendon walked further down the street, Ryan, hardly thinking about it, called, "Wait, Brendon." The boy whirled around on his heels, nearly falling over but not seeming to notice, or at least not seeming to care. "You have, um...not to be creepy, but where's your house?"

"Not creepy at all!" Brendon turned and pointed. "You can see it from here. The tall one, with the yellow door? That one."

Ryan squinted, as it was hard to see that far with so little light, but he was pretty sure he knew which house Brendon meant. "Okay. Cool. I'd show you where I live but it's about two miles further down. We should hang out sometime."

"Yeah! Definitely! See you then, Ryan!" Brendon began his walk once again.

"See ya, Brendon." It only then hit Ryan what he had done. He had no clue why he felt _that_ had been necessary, and now was mentally beating himself up. He supposed he _could_ use more friends, and someone as positive as Brendon could hopefully make him more positive too. He knew that some good would probably come from it. Brendon seemed like a nice dude.

Again, keyword is probably.

Ryan knew there was nothing he could do, so he tried to forget about it. That was something new he was doing, not worrying about anything out of his hands. There was no need to get so worked up about things he couldn't change. Instead, he just ran up to Spencer's front door and pressed the doorbell about twenty times, knowing that Spencer was asleep and his parents were away that week.

He heard what he could nearly think of as a crash from upstairs, then some loud footsteps and creaking stairs. The door flew open, Spencer standing there panting. He knew it was Ryan ringing the bell repeatedly just to piss him off, so before giving a second thought, he yelled, "What the fuck, man?"

"I should be the one saying what the fuck, you fucking left me at the party!"

"Dude, I couldn't find you. Like, I checked everywhere. I thought you were, like, getting laid or something."

Ryan rolled his eyes and let himself in, taking it to himself to head to Spencer's room. "Well clearly you didn't look _everywhere_ , asshole."

"How long was the walk?"

"About an hour."

"Damn, sorry, Ryan. How the hell did you not get killed or something?"

"I walked with some other kid who also happened to crash on the floor."

"Who?"

"Brendon don't-know-his-last-name."

"Ah."

"And I...kind of told him we should hang out soon? He lives right down the street at that house with the weird yellow door."

"Are you telling me you scored yourself a date?"

"God, no! Jesus Christ, Spencer, we barely talked. Well, he talked. A lot."

Spencer nudged Ryan's ribs with his elbow once they reached his room. "Sure, buddy."

"Fuck off."

Oh, hell. Was it possible that Brendon had perceived Ryan's offer as a date?

Ryan knew he should've stayed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spencer is already my favorite character in this


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow updating twice in a day. wrong? probably. am i doing it anyway? definitely. besides, it's gonna be tomorrow in 19 minutes here, and that's good enough for me.

At some point during their meeting, when the first hints of darkness crept over the sky, Pete took Patrick's phone straight from his pocket and added his number in under the name "petey ;-)". This made Patrick roll his eyes a little.

It had been two days since their chat and they hadn't said a word to each other since. Patrick, though he found it a little out of his own character, kind of really wanted Pete to call, or text, or something. In fact, at a few points during the two days, Patrick would just sit and flip the phone open and closed, hoping a new message or call would appear. None did. He was so timid he didn't even take into consideration the fact that he could possibly be the one to "make the first move," per se. The thought never crossed his mind even once. Of course, until...

"I don't know dude, a guy just approaching you on the sidewalk seems so...sketchy. How old was he?" Patrick's best friend and soon-to-be-roommate, Joe, asked from the other end of the phone. Patrick was sitting in his room because he knew it would be much easier to take out his nervous energy in his computer chair, since it could spin and roll around, though he wondered if it was still a computer chair if he didn't have a computer. He had his phone on his bed, which took up most of the small space, on speaker, listening to Joe trying to scare him even further about Pete. Yeah, he was scared. Of course he was. He was honestly scared of everyone. He was even more scared that Pete was never going to call, that he did this to everyone, that he gave Patrick his number out of pity. He had never tried to hard to suffocate his anxiety about a person before.

Patrick was distracted for a moment as he slid across the floor and crashed into his nightstand, falling on top of it. He used the wall to push himself back into his chair and answered, "Uh, no clue. He looked about our age. Maybe slightly older." Joe was still 19, but he would be turning 20 in a matter of months. Patrick himself had just hit 20, anyway.

"How much older?"

Patrick sighed dramatically, trying hard to express how exasperated Joe was making him. "I don't know. How the hell should I know. No more than six or seven years."

"Still sounds sketchy, dude." Patrick heard Joe huff loudly, then a slight banging sound, and knew that those noises had nothing to do with him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making a frozen pizza."

"...With difficulty?"

"Shut up, next week you're gonna be the one I'm forcing to help me."

"Fair e-" His phone beeped twice, loudly, signaling that someone else was trying to reach him. "Hold on, call on the other line." Patrick gently switched over to the new call. "Hello?"

"Hey, Patrick."

It was Pete.

Patrick wasn't sure if he wanted to run around the room pumping his fists in excitement or find some object to fiddle with to calm himself down. He opted for neither, instead steadying himself in his chair and trying to sound collected when he replied, "Oh, hey, Pete."

"What's up? Sorry I haven't gotten back to you."

"Uh, it's...it's fine, it's cool." Damn, he knew he was already failing and reminded himself that Pete was just a person and there was no need to let him have so much power over Patrick's emotions, as that lead to dangerous things. "Um, I'm just kinda hanging out."

Pete chuckled and Patrick hoped that was a good sign. "I'm watching the news. I'm some boring old guy now, I guess." An awkward silence followed, each boy expecting the other to know what to say, each second ticking by at a snail's pace. Pete finally broke it. "Oh. Um. Y'know, Patrick, we hardly know anything about each other. How about we fix that?"

Patrick shook at the thought. He wasn't stupid. He knew that telling people small things about yourself was how they could work their way to your heart. Still, he agreed with only slight reluctance tinting his voice.

"Great," Pete said, sounding genuinely happy. "Okay. What's your last name?"

"Stumph. It's spelled with an 'h' at the end but still pronounced 'stump' so I usually leave it out when I can. Sorry, babbling. What's yours?"

"Wentz. W-E-N-T-Z. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. Anyways, how old are you?"

"20."

"Turned 25 this month." Patrick congratulated himself on being in the right age range when talking to Joe earlier. He was so busy doing this that he hardly noticed when Pete asked, "When was your last relationship, who was it with, and what was it like?"

Patrick froze up because damn, this question would really explain his hesitance, but he didn't want that. He knew he couldn't lie; he'd tried before, and it just didn't work. Patrick thought into it too much. Lies were strange, you plant a fake story about yourself in someone's head and if you get away with it, then the person has a skewed perception of you, no matter how small the fib. He wondered what the world would be like if nobody could lie. But while he didn't want to make something up, he still wasn't exactly in the mood for sharing. "Well, I-" He swallowed, saliva thick in his throat, choking him. "Um, I was 14 when we started dating and we broke up when I was 17...uh, her name was Erin, and it was, um...bad."

"Oh. Sorry, dude." Patrick kind of wished Pete could know how badly he was shaking and how just the mention of Erin put him on the verge of tears, like some sort of cliff, waving his arms wildly so as not to fall off the edge. "Uh, anyway. Mine was a earlier this year, with a guy named Oliver. Things were fine but neither of us really saw a future between the two of us so we just decided it was fruitless, I guess." He paused for a moment to breathe. "How about you ask a question now?"

"Uh, can we...not do this anymore? N-Not that I don't wanna know about you or anything, I just think that we know wh-"

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine," Pete said quickly. Patrick pursed his lips and examined his fingernails just because he needed some sort of occupation. "Did...did I upset you with that last thing? I'm sorry, I pro-"

"It's fine," blurted out Patrick. "It's. Fine, don't worry about it." He hoped adding a slight laugh could lighten the mood, but it only seemed to make things more somber and tense.

"Right. Anyway!" Pete continued as if nothing had happened, for which Patrick was grateful. "Uh. I don't know. What do normal friends talk about?"

"You tell me, I only have one."

"Well that sucks. I have quite a few, but...none of them are really true friends, except maybe one guy named Andy." He paused. "So, 20 years old, mm? I'm sure this question makes you want to smash your head into a wall, but what're you gonna make of your life, Patrick?"

Patrick shut his eyes. This question was almost equally as bad. "Uh, nothing?"

"What? Pfft. C'mon, man."

Patrick laughed. "Pete, you have no idea. I'm a failure, I didn't get into any colleges and hell if my music career takes off. It's never going to happen and by this point I've pretty much given up." The words automatically pushed his eyes over to his dismantled drum kit in the open closet. He hadn't set it up even though he moved in two months ago, telling himself it was because he had no space, but deep down knowing it was because he felt rather hopeless playing them now.

"I'm sure you're great, what do you play?"

"Ah, drums mostly, but a good number of other things. Y'know, the 'basics,' guitar, bass, piano..."

"That's pretty cool. Why are you giving up?"

"I just told you, Pete, it just isn't working out, it's not worth trying anymore."

"Patrick, my dream was music too. I play the bass and the guitar. I promise you can do it."

" _Was_ your dream?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm kind of a hypocrite. I gave up too."

"Well then you have no right to stop me from giving up."

"But Patrick, you're only 20, you have your whole life ahead of you."

"Pete, you're fucking five years older than me."

"Fair, but I'm not going to acknowledge your point because it disproves my argument and I'm an asshole who wants you to have a nice life." Pete sighed deeply. "Look. If you're not going to let me convince you to keep at it, can I teach you how to live on during the drive home from your dream's funeral? When I was 20, I, uh, wasn't exactly having an easy time with that."

Patrick paused for a long time, taking it in. He wasn't sure about letting this guy teach him a lifestyle since he hardly knew the guy's lifestyle. Maybe he lived in a trash can and ate cardboard. Okay, that was a little exaggerated. But still, that was what everyone told him: this age is the one where you decide how you live. He knew most kids his age would kill for guidance like this, though, and he knew he was still deciding—deciding if he should go along with Pete's plans. But in the end, he muttered, "Okay."

He could practically hear Pete's smile. "Really? Damn, that's awesome! When can we meet up for your first, uh, lesson?"

Patrick spun in a single circle in his chair as he visualized his schedule. "Saturday, three o'clock?"

"Perfect." He gave Patrick his address, which Patrick scrawled down on his hand, hoping he would remember to write it on some actual paper sometime. "I guess that's my cue to hang up, huh?"

Patrick shook his head despite Pete not being able to see. "Well, y-you don't have to, but..."

"Then maybe I wo-" There was a sudden, quick crash in the distance. "Oh fuck, never mind, I have to go, I think the racks in my oven just collapsed." He said this in an alarming casual manner, as if it happened often. Maybe he was just a twenty-something in a shitty place both physically and mentally too. The thought calmed Patrick's nerves as they said their goodbyes and Patrick called Joe back up. Joe almost never stayed on the line when Patrick had to pick up another call.

Not even saying hello, Patrick said, "Sorry dude, it was Pete."

"Well, congratulations. I guess. What did he say?"

"Well we were just kinda talking about whatever, we sort of shifted to dreams...his dreams are equally as dead as mine."

"I fucking hate when you talk like that, dude, you can't give up yet," grumbled Joe, genuinely angered at Patrick's lack of self-esteem.

"I very much can because you are the only one who seems to think so. Well, except Pete, 'cause that's exactly what he said. But anyway, he said he wanted to give me, um, lessons? On how to keep going after your dreams are crushed." He cleared his throat. "He's 25 if you were still wondering."

"I was, thank you. And uh, I guess that's kind of a score. Does this mean he's gonna be hanging around what's about to be our place all the time?"

"Probably eventually."

Although Patrick expected a long, low groan from his friend, he instead responded with, "Okay. If this guy crosses either one of us though, I'm beating him up."

"He could probably take you in a fight."

He could tell Joe was jumping out of seat by the couch cushions ruffling. "Yeah? Let's go! Now! I'll fight him!"

Patrick laughed, "Chill the fuck out, dude, you try and fight everyone."

A loud beep came from Joe's end, which was followed by the man saying, "Hey, that's my pizza, I gotta go. Oh, uh, wait, no, not my pizza, that's my WEIGHT LIFTING SET being delivered, the one that I ordered mentally just now to prepare to FIGHT!"

"Alright, nerd, see ya around, have fun with that."

Patrick sat as far back as the chair would allow without the back snapping, which he knew it would with a little more pressure, and rested the phone on his chest.

He thought he made a good choice.


	4. Chapter 4

Ryan fell asleep almost the second his head hit the pillow and slept in past noon. Upon awakening, he was alone in Spencer's room. This was fairly normal, it had happened many times, so he just ran downstairs to see Spencer eating cereal on the couch. "You're finally up," he commented, stuffing a large spoonful into his mouth.

Ryan cocked his head. "Did you not just get up?"

"No."

"Then why are you eating cereal?"

"Because it's good and I like it."

Ryan rolled his eyes but poured himself a bowl as well anyway. He stayed well into the evening. Mostly he and Spencer just talked about random things or played video games. He knew he wasn't overstaying his welcome; that wasn't really a thing with Spencer. They had been so close for so long that it felt more normal being together than apart. Ryan knew his father would be upset if he was home after dark though, so Spencer drove Ryan home just as the edges of the sun started digging into the horizon.

Ryan's hands shook, as they inconveniently tended to when he was even the slightest bit nervous, as he jammed his key into the lock. The door was unnecessarily loud, desperately in need of some sort of grease, so he knew his father noticed his entry, but the house was silent.

He poked his head into the kitchen and sure enough, his father was at the table, clutching a day-old newspaper in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. Ryan could feel beads of sweat on his forehead forming at the sight of the latter object. "You're finally home," the man mumbled, not looking up from the paper.

"I was hanging out with Spencer." His father didn't say another word, so he took that as his cue to head upstairs. He pressed his back against the warm door of his room, sliding to the floor. His father drank daily and each day it was terrifying. The man could be nice if he wanted to and he pretty much only wanted to if he was sober, sometimes not even then. He was always lashing out without warning, especially with a drink in his hand. He'd even kick Ryan out or go as far as to drop his son off somewhere random, leaving him to either wander or have Spencer come get him. Spencer, in fact, was the only one who even knew. After all, they'd been best friends for 11 years, and Ryan could never even come close to saying he was that bonded with anyone else. He wasn't bonded with anyone else at all, except Jon, maybe a few people he had gained and lost here or there. _Jon._ He'd probably tell Jon, but he didn't want the elder to worry, as he had so much to deal with without Ryan's issues. They'd known each other since Ryan started high school, when Jon was a sophomore.

Yeah, needless to say, he was definitely moving out the second he found a place.

His father had been bugging him to get out of the house ever since his 17th birthday. He wasn't sure it really counted for a while since he was actually only told "you better get out of my house once school gets out" and not "leave my house now, " but once high school ended he suddenly felt a terrible, crushing pressure to just _go._ He didn't have much money, his job was just part-time waiting tables at a bar/grill type place, but he figured it could be enough for a cheap apartment close by. Besides, like he said, he _wanted_ to leave. He wanted to be on his own, live by his own rules, not have to deal with his father's outbursts. Of course, he didn't want to learn to do adult things that aren't necessary under your parents' roof, but the pros outweighed the cons in his mind.

He found himself up on his computer all night, as he had been every night that week, looking for a place. No dice as usual.

Around one in the morning, he sighed at the bright light of the screen, the only illumination in the otherwise pitch black room, and pressed the power button. He stumbled from his chair, stripped out of his clothes (which he'd been wearing for two days), and threw himself face-first into bed. He was a bit disappointed that he just couldn't seem to complete the simple task. He just needed some damn sleep for once.

But just as his mind started to slip out of consciousness, it was brought right back to where it started because of a single thought: _Brendon_. It wasn't a thought that particularly drew emotion out of him, but anything at that state of consciousness was enough to jolt him awake. He did think that befriending the small, bouncy boy would have benefits. Many benefits, in fact. He could tell Brendon was a potentially great person to be close to, as he was good at lightening moods and even listening if he tried. He wished he had gotten a phone number from him and not just the knowledge of what his house looked like. While Ryan tried to coat himself in a cold shell of unfriendliness, he of course truly  _did_ want friends, and he didn't exactly have many close ones. He wondered if Brendon had forgotten about him already, his mind zipping to a new topic to become fascinated with, and it would be embarrassing to talk to him again. Ryan thought maybe he should go to his house. It was a little scary, the thought of approaching the home of a guy he had talked to once with no warning, but what else was he to do?

In his mind, he scheduled a plan to head to Spencer's house the next day and from there make their way to Brendon's. He wanted to take his best friend along both so he would at least know _someone_ , but he was also still worried Brendon thought they were going on a date. He knew that if he didn't drop by Brendon's in time, he really _would_ forget about him.

As he finally drifted to sleep, he decided he didn't like wanting to make friends.

~~~

When Ryan woke up, it was roughly noon, from what he could make out on the clock through half-lidded eyes. The moment every inch of his body was aware, he leaped out of bed and started getting ready. He was a fairly late sleeper if he went to bed past midnight, and the thing he hated about that was how much of the day he ended up losing.

Spencer, though, was also a late sleeper. Ryan could never predict when he would be awake; one day it would be six in the morning, another it would be five in the afternoon. It was this reason he decided he wasn't going to call his possibly-resting friend. He was going to have to make the hour walk.

If only he wasn't broke and could actually afford a car like every other 17-year-old. He was incredibly jealous of his young friend, who had gotten one for his sixteenth birthday just days after Ryan's seventeenth.

Ryan told his father where he was going before making his way out the door and into the hot summer air. Ryan was by no means a shorts type of person, so that made the trip a bit more uncomfortable on such a sunny day. He tried his best not to think about it and he was on Spencer's doorstep before he even realized.

He could see his friend sitting on the couch from the small window at the top of the door, so rather than ringing the doorbell he just knocked gently. Spencer answered without even looking to see who it was, which Ryan noted as a terrible idea, but didn't mention. Spencer smiled sleepily and ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, Ry."

"Hey, Spence." He walked past the younger boy, but didn't sit down. "I...I think we should go meet up with Brendon today. What'd'ya think?"

"Uh, alright. You seemed annoyed by him, though," Spencer replied, raising an eyebrow.

"No...well, maybe a little. But still. Give him a chance, dude. I said I would anyway, remember?"

"This is quite unlike you."

Ryan, as he had just been thinking, knew he came off a bit heartless at times, and rightfully so, but he would rather be like that than be like...well, Brendon. "Just trust me, he seems like great friend material."

"Friend material or _boy_ friend material?"

Ryan slapped his friend's arm. "Will you shut the fuck up for once?"

"I could, but that would be no fun."

Ryan gave Spencer one last playful shove. He had to admit, he admired his friend's constant sarcasm. "Anyway, when should we go?"

"Now?"

"Well. Don't see why not, I guess."

So Spencer slipped on his sneakers and the two headed out the door, down the street and to Brendon's house. Ryan looked up at the large building before ringing the doorbell. Almost immediately, a woman answered. She was short and had shoulder-length brunette hair that slightly curled at the end. She had bright eyes and looked a bit tired, as though she was forcing herself to appear cheery. She said, her face falling a bit, "Oh, um, hello...who are you?"

"Uh. We're Brendon's friends," Ryan said. He hadn't really thought about the fact that Brendon probably wouldn't be the one who let them in.

The woman suddenly brightened again. "Oh, okay." She turned around for a moment. "BRENDON!"

Soon enough, the boy who had been called was rushing down the stairs, looking at (who Ryan presumed to be) his mother and asking, "Yeah?" Before she could answer, he noticed the boys on his doorstep and said, "Oh. Hi, guys!"

"I'll leave you three alone." The brunette disappeared somewhere in the house and Brendon took her place.

"Hey, Ryan! Who's this?"

Ryan looked between Spencer and Brendon a few times before explaining, "This is my friend. Y'know, the one who's house I went to after the party. Spencer, Spencer Smith."

Brendon shifted slightly on his heels. "Hello, Spencer Smith! I'm Brendon Urie."

"I've heard. Nice to meet you."

Brendon, instead of greeting Spencer in a similar manner, questioned Ryan, "Well, now it's about time you share _your_ last name, isn't it?"

"It's Ross."

"Ryan Ross," Brendon said slowly, as though his brain needed to digest the words. Once he snapped out of it and seemed as though he was back on Earth, he said, "Well. I'm not busy. Come on in!"

Brendon led the others in. Ryan took a good look around the house. It had a (beige) carpeted living room that led straight into a tiled kitchen with only a tiny bit of the wall peaking out to separate the two. The living room was painted blue and had a tan couch with pillows the same sky color. The coffee table was a dark wood and next to it sat an armchair the exact same style and color as the couch. The curtains were also that beige shade. The stairs were opposite the door, facing to the side, impressively close in color to the table. Brendon led them up, down an empty hallway, and then into what Ryan assumed was his bedroom.

The walls were white but decorated with some posters, and the floor had really old-looking carpet. On one end of the rectangular space was a tall dresser made of much lighter wood, and on the other side was Brendon's bed, sloppily covered by red sheets. Beside the bed was a nightstand that, unsurprisingly, matched the dresser. Besides a closed closet on the wall, the room was mostly empty otherwise, not counting a few articles of clothing scattered on the floor.

For this, Brendon apologized, "Sorry, wasn't expecting anyone," and gathered most of the clothes to throw them in a small basket across the room. "So, uh...hey!"

"Hey," Ryan mumbled, glancing around. Quickly, he noticed the guitar in the corner beside the dresser. "Sweet guitar."

"Oh, that? Thanks! Do you play?"

"Yeah, for about five years now."

"Awesome!"

"And Spencer here plays the drums." Ryan put an arm on his friend's shoulder, and Spencer nodded enthusiastically.

"Cool! Maybe we could jam together sometime."

"That sounds like a good plan."

"But for now...what'd'y'guys wanna do?"

It was silent for a moment as the three boys thought. Ryan wished he had gotten some ideas beforehand. Fortunately for him, Spencer spoke up quickly enough. "It's pretty hot out. Ice cream?"

Brendon nodded, "That sounds great! What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

~~~

The walk to the ice cream place was about fifteen minutes and basically silent. Ryan was surprised that Brendon wasn't talking and reverted back to the idea that maybe it was just the alcohol and the drugs making him so loud. The thought tugged the corners of his mind so hard, he had to openly observe as the building appeared around the corner, "Brendon, you've been pretty quiet."

Brendon seemed startled, as if he had been thinking. Once he seemed to understand, he laughed, "Oh, because I talked a lot last time? I do talk a lot, you have me there, but not 24/7. It was probably just because I was pretty nervous being out so late then."

Ryan just nodded ever so slightly, his thoughts immediately starting to drift, trying to figure out Brendon's actual personality. After a slight battle with his brain, he concluded, whilst approaching the ice cream shop, that humans are three-dimensional; you simply can't just define them by something so simple as how outgoing they are, and you can't define them after talking to them twice. There's just too much to take in. Besides, all traits have exceptions in all people. He put the topic to rest.

The building was a tiny, old-fashioned place with half the tables indoors and the other half outside. There were a few empty spaces outside, but that was all, which was understandable considering the heat you would more likely expect from mid-July, not late June. There were only about five people in line, which gave each of the boys just enough time to decide on an order.

Ryan didn't even notice they were at the counter until Brendon was declaring he wanted "rocky road, in a waffle cone, two scoops, with sprinkles." He himself ordered a cone of chocolate chip, and Spencer got a small bowl of chocolate. Just before they paid, Brendon asked for three bottles of water. Ryan didn't particularly want one, but he didn't say anything. Brendon refused to let either Spencer nor Ryan pay for the drinks.

Despite the umbrella over the table, the ice cream started melting practically the moment they stepped out the door, and because of this Spencer bragged, "Bet you wish you got bowls now." As if to prove his point, he swallowed an unnecessarily large spoonful.

Brendon licked his cone from the point at the bottom to the top of the ice cream itself, his tongue running over his long, sticky fingers. "Pssh, this is half the fun."

After a brief silence, Ryan was starting to feel a small bubble of regret forming in his chest. Damn, this was awkward. He wasn't anticipating it to be so; he figured that Brendon could go on about anything and Ryan and Spencer could find some substance within his ramblings to build a real conversation off of. It just didn't seem to be happening.

The only thing Brendon really said, though, was, "Isn't it cool how ice cream seems to taste even better when it's melted?" He dragged his tongue horizontally across the sugary cone. "It's like it's saying, 'Hey, sorry I'm making a mess, I'll make up for it.'"

"Or if you're just super lazy and prefer drinking to eating," Spencer added.  
  
"That's another option." Clearly toying with the idea, Brendon tipped the cone into his mouth, only to quickly pull it back down and cough a few times. "Damn, maybe it only works if your ice cream doesn't have nuts."

Spencer nodded thoughtfully before tracing the plastic of his spoon around the rim of the styrofoam cup containing what was left of the chocolate. "Ryan, you're awfully quiet today."

"Hm?" Ryan murmured, biting off some of his ice cream. "I'm always pretty quiet, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Ryan wished he had found a way to turn Spencer's observation into some sort of topic. He knew that neither he nor Spencer would want to do this again if things could possibly grow any more silent. He really did not need someone to dislike him just because he's introverted by nature.

Upon a quick check-in with himself, asking himself why he cared so much, he calmed down mostly. He was finishing the last of his now-liquid ice cream when he felt a bit of water on the side of his face. Slowly, he lifted his head to see Brendon with an open water bottle, a wet hand, and a grin on his face.  
  
"Yeah?" Ryan questioned, trying his best to open his own bottle without breaking eye contact. He poured some over his fingers and flicked it at Brendon, who practically squealed. Before either of them noticed, Spencer was joining in and everyone was staring at the table of teenagers attack each other with simple water.

After a few minutes or so, Brendon stood up. "Okay, okay, we need to make a truce, and I know just how." He held his bottle over his head. It shone in the sun, only about half of the water left, and in seconds it was being poured right over Brendon's head, soaking his dark hair and rolling off of his pale skin.

"Oh my God, _Brendon,_ " Ryan said loudly over the sound of Spencer's giggles.

"There! No more water fights!" Brendon took a few steps closer to the table. "Now can we go back to my house so I can dry off? I'm starting to question how good of an idea this was."

"Yeah, let's go," Ryan agreed, unable to choke back his laughter any longer.

The walk back was still pretty quiet, but a slightly more upbeat vibe was felt between the three friends.

That was enough for Ryan to be glad that he, for once, made an effort to be social.


End file.
